


history books forgot about us

by nataliewrites



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:25:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataliewrites/pseuds/nataliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The void could have opened up and swallowed Night Vale whole; Station Management could reveal itself to him; the librarians could escape the library and prey on the citizens of Night Vale. Cecil would not have noticed.</p><p>It is a regular day in Night Vale when Cecil Baldwin falls in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	history books forgot about us

**Author's Note:**

> Trying out something new.  
> Title taken from Regina Spektor's "Samson".

**i.**

 

It is a regular day in Night Vale (as regular as a day in Night Vale can possibly be) when it happens. He should have been wary; regular days, he knows, are the ones that always end up the most irregular. He should have expected something to happen, but he did not expect this. This, when it happens, happens with all the brute force of the earth-shattering events Cecil has been warning the public about on his radio show for weeks. It has the same impact that the meteor that eradicated the dinosaurs. It has the same impact that the fires of Pompeii. It is cataclysmic and unforgettable; time suddenly has meaning, and _this_ – this transcends time and planes of reality. It permeates all of history and all of Cecil, right to the very essence of his being. The void could have opened up and swallowed Night Vale whole; Station Management could reveal itself to him; the librarians could escape the library and prey on the citizens of Night Vale. Cecil would not have noticed.

 

It is a regular day in Night Vale when Cecil Baldwin falls in love.

 

**ii.**

 

Under orders from Station Management, he attends a meeting being held in the town hall. He is not sure why the meeting is being held, and he is more than a little disappointed in himself because of this. Reporters should always know what is going on, after all. From the murmurs of other townsfolk he catches the words _newcomer_ and _scientist_ , which do not help him in the slightest. He is on high-alert regardless, patient and ever-watchful, looking for things to report. There is nothing that Cecil enjoys more than being thorough.

 

He glances over at the speaker’s podium, and feels his heart stop.

 

Standing there, behind the microphone, is an Adonis in a flannel shirt and a rumpled white lab coat. He is dark-skinned, his wild hair streaked with grey at the temples. Cecil has the strangest urge to run his hands through it, to tangle his fingers in the curls. Instead, he stares in adoration, pushing through the crowd to be closer to the podium. All that Cecil knows is that some primal instinct within him is yearning to be closer, and it is not something that Cecil is strong enough to deny. He settles for watching from the side as this newcomer awkwardly shuffles papers and converses in low tones with the mayor. She nods to him and he gives an uncomfortable smile. It is forced and it is more of a grimace, but to Cecil, it is perfect. _He_ is perfect. He sighs lightly under his breath, wondering what good deed the citizens of Night Vale have done to deserve the presence of such a wonderful man; this demigod who is glancing around the crowd as if he can hear Cecil’s thoughts. As if he is trying to fid the source. Cecil’s heart begins to race and he ducks behind an Erika, ignoring Old Woman Josie’s giggling. He wants to meet this man, but something inside him whispers _not yet_ , and so he hides until the man stops searching the crowd.

 

The mayor calls for attention, and the Adonis with the silver-streaked hair clears his throat.

 

‘Um… good morning, Night Vale,’ he says in a voice that is, to Cecil, pure gold. ‘My name is Carlos. I’m a scientist and I’m here to study some of the things going on in Night Vale. This – this is probably the most scientifically interesting community in the US, and I’m honoured to be here…’

 

 _Carlos_. The name sends small chills up his spine, and Cecil finds himself enamoured. He watches as Carlos talks, pushing up his glasses and gesturing with his hands. He is awkward and obviously unused to talking in front of crowds. But Carlos’ enthusiasm for science wins against his nerves. He smiles, and Cecil finally understands why some people complain of having butterflies in their stomach.

 

He tries his best to listen to Carlos’ speech, but halfway through he finds himself closing his eyes and simply allowing the scientist’s voice to wash over him, weaving together images in his mind’s eye. It is a voice so wonderful and so incredibly rich that King Midas himself would be jealous. Carlos, he thinks, could bend entire nations to his will with that voice – after all, he already has Cecil enraptured.

 

The meeting ends and the crowds begin to disperse, the gentle chatter too harsh a substitute for Carlos’ voice. Old Woman Josie walks past Cecil with an enigmatic smile, pushing him closer to the podium. She looks at him as if to say _go on, he’s waiting for you_ , and Cecil swallows nervously. The butterflies in his stomach have intensified. He is terrified and his heart is beating too fast, and all he can think is that Odysseus can eat his heart out because he would never have experienced a storm such as the one raging inside Cecil right now. Legs weak and trembling for some unknown reason, he makes his way toward the podium. Carlos is currently talking to the mayor, but he seems unable to keep eye contact with her for long. He is glancing around the room as he talks, and his eyes eventually land on Cecil.

 

They make eye contact, and Cecil’s world implodes.

 

_[ he is a warrior and he will stop at nothing as long as he has his lover waiting for him; he is a king and his love is violent and manipulative and poisoned; he is a knight and his love is fierce and possessive and passionate, almost an apology. they love now just as they always have and just as it will always be. they have left their mark among the stars, and no one will ever forget them – and suddenly Cecil knows - ]_

 

The very core of Cecil’s being sings. If there was a part of him missing, it has been found. He is whole again. There are galaxies reorganising themselves in his veins, and his heart pumps stars instead of blood. It should be bright and mesmerising like the lights above the Arby’s, but all that his mind’s eye can conjure is a galaxy the exact, impossibly deep colour of Carlos’ eyes. Cecil’s entire body hums quietly to the beat of his heart, which has found a new mantra – _Carlos, Carlos, Carlos_. It is like Zeus has sewn his creations back together at last, and everything feels _right_.

 

‘Hello,’ Cecil manages to stammer.

 

‘Hello,’ Carlos replies slowly, arching an eyebrow.

 

‘I-I’m Cecil. I’m a local newsreader – well, a reporter I guess – and I work at Night Vale Community Radio. I was just thinking that I’d introduce myself.’

 

‘A newsreader?’ Carlos seems more interested now.

 

‘Y-yeah!’ Cecil brightens up as he has an idea. ‘If you need to get a message out fast, I’m the one to call!’

 

He hands over a small lilac card in the hopes that Carlos will call him. Carlos reaches to take it, their fingers brushing while the scientist murmurs his thanks. Cecil shudders at the contact, feeling the jolt all the way up his arm. His body sings quietly, and he feels as if he is floating on air. It is a wonder how something so small can feel so perfect. He watches Carlos leave the hall, and feels part of his heart go with him.

 

Cecil wants to sing Carlos’ praises to the sky. He wants the entirety of Night Vale to feel his happiness and rejoice with him, because the void has been filled, and Cecil is no longer afraid. But there are no words to describe the way this feels; this intrinsic knowledge that some part of him has finally come home. And so, with Herculean effort, pouring his heart out onto the airwaves, he says –

 

‘… and I fell in love instantly.’

 

**iii.**

 

Time passes in Night Vale. It passes impossibly slow, and then all at once it passes in the blink of an eye. A day can go on for weeks, and a week can pass in seconds. Time has no meaning in Night Vale, and it never has. Cecil measures his days through his radio broadcasts; through close brushes with death at the hands of Station Management, and horrifying town-wide crises such as the events that led to the ban on wheat and wheat by-products. The horrific day-to-day goings on in Night Vale is his only constant besides the sturdy presence of Carlos.

 

Time passes, and Cecil does not care.

 

Time is irrelevant, as long as there is a show to be done.

 

His existence has meaning, as long as Carlos stays in Night Vale.

 

**iv.**

It is a long, long time before Carlos returns his affections, but it does not bother Cecil. He thinks of Odysseus and Penelope; he thinks of the devotion it must have taken to wait twenty-odd years for the other. He thinks of it, and he dismisses it – Cecil knows that he would wait an eternity for Carlos if he has to.

 

And then, it seems, he doesn’t have the luxury of waiting anymore.

 

‘A truly fearful thing has happened, listeners…’ he forces the words out of his mouth, reading from the report even as his vision swims. He feels like he cannot breathe; each word is a knife in his chest. Carlos is _dead_.

 

Carlos – who was his and is his but never will be his – is _dead_.

 

‘We go now to this p-pre-recorded public service announcement,’ Cecil chokes out and blindly hits a switch on the soundboard. His hands are shaking, and the interns watch fearfully from the side.

 

Carlos is dead, and Cecil’s world implodes.

 

_[ he is a warrior parading the city walls and there is a rage in his chest because his love is dead and nothing else matters; he is a soldier and they are burning the temple to the ground and he can hear the wails of the devout and they cut at him like knives; he is being led to his execution like a lamb to the slaughter and he can’t bring himself to care because carlos is dead. he is dead so troy can burn and he’ll raze pompeii to the ground himself because none of it matters anymore - ]_

It is a searing, white-hot agony that almost blinds Cecil. He feels frozen; impossibly cold, impossibly alone. In his mind all he can picture is Pompeii; floods of liquid fire raining down on them all – men and women and children and elderly. He imagines the destruction and the devastation. He imagines the sheer tragedy of all those deaths – and he dismisses it. In fact, he feels almost jealous of the lovers and families that died together. They would not understand how he feels, because they died locked in each other’s embraces. They received a charity that Cecil would give anything for. Images of Carlos, broken and bloodied, flash through his mind, and Cecil can do nothing but curl in on himself and sob. Atlas, he thinks, can eat his fucking heart out.

 

And then there is an intern in front of him, shaking slightly in fear, handing him a note and telling him the pre-recorded message is ending soon. He needs to get back on air. He skims the note miserably, heart stopping as he realises what he’s reading. The message ends and he’s back on air, and he’s so happy he can barely contain himself. He wants to weep with joy because Carlos is _alive._ He regrets every horrible thing he’s ever said about the Apache Tracker, because that man singlehandedly managed to keep Cecil’s world spinning. He barely remembers the rest of the broadcast, impossibly elated because _Carlos is alive and his world makes sense again_ , when suddenly – his phone buzzes with a message from Carlos.

 

_Cecil, can you meet me at the Arby’s parking lot?_

 

Cecil has responsibilities. He has a show to do. But he finds himself mumbling an excuse and turning on the weather, desperate to get to Carlos’ side as soon as he can.

 

It is an unusually quiet night in Night Vale, as if the town has become subdued in the aftermath of Cecil’s grief. He approaches Carlos carefully, who waves him over to sit on the hood of his car. They gaze up at the lights above the Arby’s together, and Cecil feels as if there is a small bubble around them; something protecting them, even just for now, against the dangers that lurk in Night Vale. This moment feels impossible and eternal. As long as they sit here on the hood of Carlos’ car, they are untouchable.

 

 ’I used to think it was setting at the wrong time,’ Carlos says, looking at the setting sun, ‘but then I realized that time doesn’t work in Night Vale, and that none of the clocks are real.  Sometimes things seem so strange, or malevolent… and then you find that, underneath, it was something else altogether. Something pure, and innocent.’

 

‘I know what you mean,’ Cecil whispers. He can feel Carlos catching up. He knows that world is being refabricated, just as Cecil’s had been a year earlier. He knows that something out there has taken their destinies and woven them together, marking them as one. They are two halves that have found their way back to each other, and they are almost ready to put themselves back together. It is not love on Carlos’ part yet, but to Cecil it does not matter. The foundations are there, and once it begins, Cecil knows that nothing will be stronger – not Achilles, nor Hercules, nor the walls of Troy. They will be inseparable and unstoppable, and it is all that Cecil needs. He will wait forever for Carlos, if he has to.

 

Carlos puts his hand on Cecil’s knee, and he feels his heart soar.


End file.
